Coincidence
by Yuuki no Yuki
Summary: Allison Wolfe was the embodiment of the saying "a jack of all trades, and a master of none." If one didn't look too closely at her past she seemed perfectly normal. Thus it was rather ironic that her life would come to be so intertwined with an FBI agent. She knew she shouldn't have gone to school in Virginia. Reid/OC Slow-building. Realistic. Age-gap (6.5 years)
1. Prologue

**~ Prologue ~  
**

 **~:~**

Allison S. Wolfe wasn't a genius or anything.

She was smart, really smart, but not genius-smart. She also wasn't an Olympic level athlete, despite being heavily athletic. Allison wasn't the funniest, or the prettiest, or even the most daring of girls. Even though she was funny, pretty, and a bit of an adrenaline junkie.

No, Allison Wolfe was the perfect embodiment of the saying "a jack of all trades, and a master of none." There was very little that Allison couldn't do with minimal effort, but there was very little that Allison could claim she was the 'best' at.

But the one thing Allison was confident she could do was read people. She could look at a person and almost _feel_ that they were lying to her. She could simply _tell_ what their intentions were.

Which, considering her upbringing, wasn't actually all that surprising.

Despite this ability, however, Allison never had any intention of going into law-enforcement. The same childhood that had granted her such a…"useful" ability, had thoroughly disillusioned her from such a career.

Now, that's not to say that she thought ill of the police or government. She could understand clearly the purpose of both establishments, and wouldn't want to entertain the thought of a civilization sans them. But rather, that _she_ wanted nothing to do with them, either.

Thus it is rather ironic that her life would come to be so intertwined with an FBI agent.

 **~:~**

The first time Allison met Dr. Spencer Reid she had been running late to class.

This was the first coincidence in the long string of 'happenstances' that would come to define their every interaction. She didn't think much of him at the time, he'd looked every bit the studious college-student, and she was far more concerned with making it to Calculus III on time.

Her professor believed in extra-credit…in so much as a motivator of being punctual. In other words, an unexcused tardy would have dropped her borderline 'A' to a steady 'C'.

So I'm sure you can imagine her surprise when he flashed his badge at her, murmuring "FBI" before asking if she could please answer some questions about the recent fires for him.

At first she was confused-

 _I mean the fires were a tragedy, absolutely horrible, but they didn't really have anything to do with_ me.

-out of everyone on campus, why would he choose to question her? And why minutes before the _one class_ she couldn't afford to be late to?

Her confusion must've been obvious on her face, or…well, obvious to a profiler that is, as he quickly launched into some convoluted explanation that basically boiled down to the fact that they thought the 'unsub' may have something to do with the chemistry department.

"So?" he prompted, shaking her out of her reverie.

"So?"

"The fires…do you think they could have been set by a chemistry student?"

"No." She answered, clear, strong, firm in her belief. It was clear such confidence took him by surprise, which makes sense, she supposed. Most people didn't answer hypothetical's with such surety.

"…why not?" he pressed, and she shivered as she watched his eyes rake across her face, not provocatively, rather she was completely uncomfortable with him… _reading_ her.

Profiling her.

 _What does he see?_ she'd wondered that first time. _What secrets has he picked up on?_

 **~:~**

She knew what most people saw when they looked at her, a short, young, nerdy, brunette. Most people questioned what she was even doing on campus, and why she was carrying around such odd books with her.

Part of it was genetics, she couldn't help that at 17 she looked not a day over 14. Part of it was intelligence; most people didn't like hearing that the youngest kid in their class was a year away from graduating with a double bachelor's. And part of it was just personality-it didn't help public perception that she was very childish by nature.

So yes, she knew exactly what most people saw when they looked at her. But 'most people' was not a term that one would use to describe Dr. Reid.

"Ms. Wolfe?"

"Sorry," she muttered, shaking her head to clear it of such errant thoughts, "I tend to get easily distracted."

"You know, it's a common characteristic of this day and age to easily veer off topic. Studies show that a likely explanation is the exponential growth in day-to-day knowledge we accrue, for example, did you know that one issue of the New York Times on Sunday contains more information than the average 18th century French Nobleman learned in his lifetime?"

"You don't say?"

"It's true. It's also been proven-chemically-that attention is a limited resource, and while we can train our bodies to better focus we still—

"—Dr. Reid," she interrupted with a small chuckle, "it seems like you're the one 'veering off topic' now."

She smiled as his face flushed with embarrassment, "r-right. So, you were saying?"

"Well, it's just…I don't know much about profiling you see. But I always thought arsonists thought of their work as some sort of art? Like they'd love to watch it, to make it as perfect as possible and then sit back and enjoy the show?"

"That is a common characteristic of a certain type of arsonist, that's true."

"Then I doubt it's a chemistry student, or, at least not a _good_ student. After all, if I were the arsonist, I'd probably try to make a D-class fire. Break into the Organic Chemistry lab or something and get a chemical fire going. One that would have a volatile reaction to water. You know, make something that would last for a bit?"

At Dr. Reid's calculating expression she rushed to add, "not that I _am_ the arsonist. I have next to no free time, definitely no time to go around burning down the University that I'm paying thousands of dollars to attend. Seriously, who does that?"

She didn't know what it was about her expression or speech that served to clear her in his eyes, but the next thing she knew he was escorting her to her class-at her behest, she didn't want her grade to drop after all-and walking out of her life.

Or so she thought.

The next day the arsonist was caught, and she can tell you her surprise when she learned it had been her Physics TA, just goes to show that you never really know a person.

And life went back to normal.

December came and went, and with-it her inauguration into adult hood. She graduated with a B.S. in Chemistry and a B.A. in poetry—

 _An odd combination, I know, but what can I say? I'm odd._

—that May, and decided to continue her schooling in Virginia.

One can continue a study of Chemistry anywhere, but Poetry? That is best learned from the very Poets one professes to admire. She didn't think much of her decision; she was entering into the graduate school program with high hopes.

The program she had gotten accepted into was accelerated, and-if she managed to keep up with the course work-would allow her to obtain both doctorates in four years.

Thus, it should come as no surprise that she had pushed her random meeting with Dr. Spencer Reid right out of her mind.

And why she was so surprised, in 2007, to find they shared a class.

 **~:~**

 **~ End Prologue ~  
**


	2. Sarah

"Life is full of luck, like getting dealt a good hand,  
or simply by being in the right place at the right time.  
Some people get luck handed to them, a second chance, a save.  
It can happen heroically, or by a simple coincidence,  
but there are those who don't get luck on a shiny platter,  
who end up in the wrong place at the wrong time,  
who don't get saved."

 **~ Jessica Sorensen ~**

* * *

Sarah was sick and tired of her waitress gig.

Sure it had seemed like a good idea at the time, college dorms were expensive and she was friends enough with her roommates to justify getting an apartment together. Of course she had forgotten to take into account that her financial aid would drop when housing was no longer calculated into her overall cost. Meaning the strain on her pay check would grow rather than shrink.

But it really had seemed like a good idea.

"You're done, Baker." Her boss called, motioning for Sarah to clean up and clean out. She was more than happy to go. This day had been longer than most. And she was secretly cursing herself for deciding to go to school out-of-state. Florida was fine, Florida was great, she should have stayed there.

But, no. She'd wanted to "see the world" and so had jumped at the chance to attend a "real" university in the Big Apple. Well, shame on her for thinking New York would be anything other than long hours and minimum wage.

Not that she regretted the move. Not _really_. She was just tired after a long shift at the diner. She was simply happy that the state allowed her to serve alcohol as a nineteen year old, or there was no way she could have landed the job.

The place wasn't exactly what one would call "family-friendly."

Although she could have done without having to take that stupid bartender course.

Yes, Sarah's life wasn't what one would call "stellar" but she was content with where it was going. After all she'd have her B.A. in Education in two years, and then she could land her dream job of teaching in New York. (A big factor in leaving Florida was their horrible education system, and treatment of teaching staff).

Unfortunately Sarah would never get to see her dream actualize. In fact Sarah would never get to see that dingy apartment that she had just spent the last eight-hours busting tables to pay for. The last thing Sarah would get to see would be the barrel of a gun before she was shot.

And the first thing the NYPD would notice upon arriving on the scene was that very shot.

One bullet.

In the center of her forehead.

Executioner's style.

The next thing they would notice would be the encrypted note stapled to her work-collar.

4-1.6-1-5 **3.8-1-2.8-4-1-2.8-0.6-1-0.8** 2.6-1 **4-3** 4-4.6-1-2.8-4-5 **5-1-0.2-3.6-3.8** 3-1.2 **4-3-3.6-1-8-3-2.6**

1.2-1-3.6 **4-3.6-5-1.8-2.8-1.4** 4-3 **0.6-1.6-0.2-2.8-1.4-1** 4-1.6-1 **3.8-5-3.8-4-1-2.6** 1.2-3.6-3-2.6 **4.6-1.8-4-1.6-1.8-2.8**

1.8-2.6 **0.6-3-2.6-1.8-2.8-1.4** 2.8-3-4.6 **1.8-2.6** 0.6-3-2.6-1.8-2.8-1.4 **4-3** 3.6-1-4.6-0.2-3.6-0.8 **4-1.6-1-2.6**

1.2-1.8-3.6-3.8-4 **4.6-1** 4-0.2-2.2-1 **2.6-0.2-2.8-1.6-0.2-4-4-0.2-2.8** 4-1.6-1-2.8 **4.6-1** 4-0.2-2.2-1 **0.4-1-3.6-2.4-2.8**

Which would be promptly de-coded the next day and go on to create more questions than it solved.

The case would be broadcast through all major news channels, but when the killer failed to strike again it would eventually find itself shelved. And Sarah Baker's death would be written off as 'unfortunate' but _accidental_. As in;

"The poor kid was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

And it would remain unsolved for the next two years.

* * *

Okay, so maybe it was a stretch to say Allison "shared a class" with Dr. Reid.

She actually very rarely saw the FBI agent. What with the fact that she was often grading papers in the Professor's office-the trials of being a TA-and the few days a month she did sub in for the philosophy professor often fell on days that Dr. Spencer Reid was out.

Most likely working.

This was fine with Allison as she had only ever shared one, slightly awkward, conversation with the guy, and so didn't feel it any great loss that they constantly missed each other.

Besides, there was also the slight awkwardness over the fact that she-technically-out ranked him in the classroom. Despite the fact that he had three PhD's, in Mathematics, Engineering, and _Chemistry_ (the very subject she was struggling to pull together a dissertation for) he was still taking an undergraduate level philosophy course, probably trying to earn yet another bachelor's, under the very Professor that she herself had chosen to..."apprentice" under.

It just felt _wrong_ to grade his papers. To read his essays on Morality and try to judge whether or not his thought process, his _arguments_ were flawed. What right did she have to criticize a mind such as his? To try and quantify his ideas, his _beliefs_? What right did she have to assign him a grade at all when she couldn't help but look forward to whatever he wrote?

Allison loved reading his papers.

Philosophy papers in general were always interesting, both reading and writing them. She had loved taking the class herself, a few years ago. And it had gone on to heavily influence her style as a poet. Transforming her from a naturalist to a writer with a political agenda. A downgrade in the eyes of many, but to Allison that period of her life represented a very important change in her psyche.

Rather than witlessly stringing words together based on _syntax_ based on such technical aspects as _alliteration_ or _chiasmus_. She began to write based on _emotion_ based on that innate _feeling_ that spurred her on even when she really should have been sleeping, or eating, or doing something other than scribbling on the back of a napkin.

Sure many critics would think she had regressed as a poet. Would criticize her work for specializing too strongly. For not allowing for multiple interpretations. For _stating_ her meaning, rather than allowing the meaning to _speak for itself_. But frankly?

She didn't care.

She didn't care because she was happy with her work, she was _proud_ of what she wrote. So what if it didn't fit some stuffy so-and-so's cookie-cutter view of poetry? It was good enough for her Graduate Professor, a modern day Orwell, and so was good enough for her.

So, yes, Allison loved reading Dr. Reid's papers, especially when they gave her such unceasing inspiration. Looking down at the stanza she'd just scribbled, she couldn't help but think-

 _Perhaps Language is but an agent of deceit._  
 _With all its allowances and exceptions._  
 _Content to slay Virtue through ambiguity.  
_

-that she was fine if they never met.

If they never spoke again.

As long as he kept writing, kept feeding her such useful fodder, she had no complaints. Rather selfish of her, she could admit. But as George Orwell once said; "All writers are vain, selfish, and lazy," and Allison could freely admit that she was no different. But that was fine with her, one did not study _poetry_ of all things if they cared about what others thought of them, after all.

No, Allison was fine with being 'vain, selfish, and lazy' as long as it meant she could continue being a 'writer.'

For that she could take on any and all slurs.

* * *

Dr. Spencer Reid didn't know what to think of his Philosophy T.A.

He was certain he had met her before, and her face was heavily aligned with the phrase " _The Norton Anthology of Poetry"_ in his memory. Which, knowing how his edict memory worked, implied he had read the book title while in her presence. But did not help narrow down _where_ he may have met her.

Spencer's memory was well above that of the average man, and the fact that he could not instantly recall why this girl was familiar to him could only mean that their meeting hadn't been a very memorable one.

Perhaps he had bumped into her in the cafeteria awhile back? But, no, that would have caused him enough emotional embarrassment to have forged a strong enough neuro-pathway to allow for near-instant recall.

The only emotion Spence associated with her was the low level awkwardness he'd come to associate with conversing with anyone outside of his Mother and the team.

So he had spoken to her, then? Why?

Well, that was easy enough to answer. He had asked her a question, that's the only reason Spencer would willingly initiate conversation with a stranger. Well, the only platonic reason, but he doubted he had been trying to strike up a conversation with a girl seven years his junior for any reason _but_ a platonic one.

He'd definitely remember that.

No, he had definitely asked her a question, then. And judging by the way she acted in his presence, eyes instantly seeking him out when she entered the room, before continuing to scan the rest of his classmates for attendance, he could only assume _she_ remembered _him_.

Spencer seriously doubted that her memory was better than his, not out of any misplaced hubris but simply because the probability of this being so was so low that it seemed almost senseless to consider.

Which left only one other option. Their meeting, while nothing special to _him_ was different enough to have caught her attention, and kept it. Coupled with the knowledge that he had most likely posed a question to the young girl, and Spencer felt confident in his conclusion that he had approached her not as a fellow student, but rather as an FBI agent.

Instantly images started to assault him, flashes of a fire, a burning dorm building, the repetition of 3. _3._ ** _3._** and a question;

"The fires...do you think they could have been set by a chemistry student?"

Allison Wolfe, one of the interviews from the University Arson case, of course. It seems that Ms. Wolfe had managed to graduate after-all, Spencer'd had his doubts seeing as she had been on the edge of burn-out when they'd met two years ago. It hadn't been more than a passing thought at the time-

 _She pushes herself too hard. A perfectionist. A well annotated Poetry Book and a paper filled with notes on Physical Chemistry. A double-major? Possible. Bags under her eyes, shaking hands, sever bouts of insomnia. Highly likely. Probability of suffering burn-out before the semester ends? Upward of ninety percent._

-something that he had observed and file'd away almost subconsciously. All the more when he was busy with an active investigation and interviewing a potential witness. In the end she had known nothing, and while her answers had hinted at a destructive personality;

"If _I_ were the arsonist, I'd probably try to make a D-class fire. Break into the Organic Chemistry lab or something and get a chemical fire going."

Spencer had ultimately ruled that she had nothing to do with the fires. That she was unlikely to commit any sort of felony, if not for moral reasons then due to her pragmatic outlook on life.

"I have next to no free time, definitely no time to go around burning down the University that I'm paying thousands of dollars to attend."

Spencer never expected to run into her again, least of all in Virginia, in his University. Still, it wasn't that important in the grand scheme of things. Spencer was just happy to have solved one mystery. Now her presence wouldn't continue to grate on him-he didn't do well with unsolved puzzles-and he could just write this whole thing off as a coincidence.

After all, the chances of their path ever crossing again were astronomically small.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well there's chapter 1 of _Coincidence_ I hope you liked it! The genre and opening of this chapter should have given it away, but this fic is going to be largely written as a murder mystery. Feel free to play detective if you want! The cypher up top is easily breakable and does not need a key (hence why the NYPD broke it in a day) so you could try your hand at decoding that *shrugs* up to you.

For those of you who are new to my stories I make it a habit of responding to any and all reviews at the bottom of the preceding chapter. So, below you shall find said responses.

Thanks to all who read!

Responses:

 **ripon:** Haha, it is definitely a strange degree, but it exists I promise. A degree in literature wasn't what she was aiming for, that would be like getting a degree in applied science as opposed to chemistry. She _wanted_ the overly specific degree, she's weird like that. Thanks for your review! Hope this chapter kept your interest!

 **annabethfan15:** Thank you very much! I'm happy the age-gap doesn't bother you as that is going to be a very crucial point of this fic. Haha, you got lucky this time. Don't expect such speedy updates regularly!

P.S. Votre Anglais est bien meilleures que mon francaise. Alors, pas de soucis.

 **Guest:** *Takes deep breath* I apologize in advanced for my verbose response.

I say she's "not a genius" to represent how Allison has a healthy view of herself, not to avoid a situation that an ounce of good writing will prevent. She is smart. She is _very_ smart. (As stated) she, however, _does not_ have an IQ four standard deviations away from the mean (i.e. +160) and, therefore, is _not_ a 'genius.' I can appreciate the her situation is far from "normal" and I can appreciate that this leads you to believe Allison is a Mary Sue. That's fine; I write. You read. I intend. You interpret. Far be it from me to criticize your interpretation. That being said, I hope you can appreciate that I can do nothing to assuage you of your interpretation but keep writing and tell you that I do have a reason behind everything I reveal. Hopefully you keep reading, if not, thank you for your review!

 **~:~**

Thanks again to all who read/alerted/Favorited/reviewed. You guys are the best!


	3. Super Bowl

"The world is so unpredictable. Things happen suddenly, unexpectedly.  
We want to feel we are in control of our own existence.  
In some ways we are, in some ways we're not.  
We are ruled by the forces of chance and coincidence."

 **~ Paul Auster ~**

* * *

It was raining heavily the day that Natalie broke up with Mark.

Well, _heavily_ didn't really do it justice, in truth, it was **pouring,** _drowning_ the roads, and _weighing_ on the roofs and gutters.

Natalie thought this was only fair, her mood was shot to hell so why not the weather too?

...Even though she had been the one who pulled the plug she couldn't help but feel that, sometimes, life. Just. Sucked.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to fall in love, get married, and have kids. Cliche, perhaps, but it wasn't known as the "American Dream" for nothing.

Having been brought up in a foster home Natalie had spent her whole life wishing for a family of her own, if not from being adopted (figuratively or literally) into one, then by creating her own.

Mark was meant to be her gateway to that life.

Yet he had single-handedly destroyed her dreams. First he turned down that football scholarship to _Notre Dame_ , claiming that he wanted to work with his hands rather than waste time with "more school." Then he started pulling away from Natalie, calling her things such as "clingy" and "nosy." And just last week he'd dropped the final bomb.

He didn't believe in marriage.

Let alone marriage and _kids._

In fact he never wanted kids.

Ever.

Natalie thought it would have been kinder if he had just ended it himself. But, no. He'd wanted her to do it. To be the one to end it. Well, he got what he wanted. They were over.

Done.

Finite.

Finished.

Still, why did it have to hurt so much? Natalie didn't know. That's what she got, she supposed, for wasting time on a boy two years her junior. She should have just taken her friend's advice and sworn off guys until her degree was complete. Now she had one failed relationship and a stupid B.A. in psychology to show for it.

She didn't even like psychology.

Still, her life wasn't totally forfeit. She was set to take the LSAT in two days, and if she did well enough on that Law school wouldn't be too far off.

Now if the stupid bus could just pull up so she wasn't stuck waiting in front of her boyfrie—

— _ex_ -boyfriend's apartment building. Everything would be great.

 ** _BANG_**

God, she hated Chicago.

Couldn't even go five minutes without someone shooting up a store, or a car, or something. Honestly, Natalie couldn't understand it. Weren't bullets expensive? Wasn't it counter productive to go around burning money...to get money?

And that gunshot sounded rather close, which meant the cops would be called, which meant the bus-if it didn't detour-would be stuck for God knows how long.

This sucked. Natalie didn't know how, but she bet Mark had something to do with this. Probably some last-ditch attempt to screw her over. To ruin her already crappy mood.

"Well, the jokes on you," Natalie thought, "I can just walk home."

A thought that Natalie would quickly come to regret as not soon after she entered her apartment she received a call.

"Hello, is this Natalie Davidson?"

It was the Chicago Police Department calling to inform her of a break-in at the residence of one Mark Green. Apparently she was his listed emergency contact and so it was her whom they felt necessary to inform that Mark had been shot.

That Mark had been murdered.

And they had "strong evidence" to suggest that it was not a crime of passion, or a drug-deal gone wrong. Specifically the presence of a cypher stapled to the victim's shirt collar.

They then proceeded to invite her to their office to go over the details in person-where they began to interrogate the poor girl.

Natalie, already in the throes of shock, didn't even have the sense-of-self to request a lawyer be present. Didn't have the wherewithal, to realize what exactly they were trying to pin on her. What, with just the slightest bit of circumstantial evidence, they _would_ pin on her.

Just another domestic.

But in the end it didn't matter. There was no evidence pointing at Natalie, in fact there was no "evidence" period. The only things extractable from the crime-scene were the things the killer left for the cops to find. Namely the single bullet wound to the head, and the cypher stapled to the collar of the victim.

The case remained open, but unsolved, for a year. Their only suspect-a Natalie Davidson.

* * *

Two weeks into the semester and Allison was finally getting into the swing of things. It had taken her a bit to get comfortable with the whole "Teacher's Assistant" position but after some advice from a fellow Graduate Student she had learned how to successfully budget her time, and cater to her professor's demanding personality.

Not to say that her professor was _mean,_ he was just...firm, in his opinion's of how things should (and _shouldn't_ ) be done.

Still, sometimes Allison really regretted listening to her Father when he pushed her to continue her education. Sure you can't really do anything beyond entry-level work with a Bachelor's in Chemistry, but that didn't mean she needed to get her _doctorate_.

Of course, "pushed" was a rather harsh term, if Allison was being honest she would admit that her father had never done more than bring up the possibility. But there was nothing Allison wouldn't do for her father. And even if he hadn't said it, in so many words, it _had_ been heavily implied that nothing would make him happier than having a "doctor" in the family.

Never mind that Sammy had gotten into John Hopkins not a month ago, and-allowing four years for Medical School-was well on her way to becoming an _actual_ doctor.

But Dad didn't talk about Samantha.

Not anymore.

Sometimes Allison really wished her sister had just a little bit less of a stubborn streak in her, but then-she supposed-she must have gotten it from Dad as he was just as unwilling to mend bridges.

Still with school pushing in on her in one direction, and family making itself a nuisance in the other, it was no real surprise that Allison had been feeling incredibly stressed as of late.

Which is why she was so quick to jump on her classmates suggestion—

 _"A couple of us are meeting at the local bar to watch the Game, I know you can't drink, but you did mention you like football?"_

—and had agreed, perhaps a tad too quick, to meet him, and his aforementioned "friends," Sunday.

The week had passed relatively fast and before she knew it Allison was surrounded by a bunch of Graduate Students all settling in to shout at a t.v. for a couple of hours. They had all been less than impressed with her professional wear, but, in her defense, she had come straight from a meeting with her adviser, who had suggested she scratch her latest poem;

 _"Really, Allison, I know you are pressed for time, but it all seems very...juvenile. Outside of the final stanza I wouldn't claim I'd written any of this."_

And, besides, it wasn't _her_ team playing. If it was she wouldn't have been sitting in some bar, watching it all play-out, she would have been sitting in the stadium, watching them kick-butt! (She had briefly considered showing up in her aqua-and-orange team jersey, but people tended to make a scene when they noticed someone supporting the Dolphins, and she didn't feel like getting into it at the moment.)

So she was fine in her "stuffy" (as they had been labeled) clothes. She could relax regardless of what she wore, and besides, she only really knew Kevin, anyway. So it's not as if she cared greatly about the impression she made.

Still, it was nice to get out of the University every once in awhile.

* * *

Spencer didn't care for football.

He didn't _hate_ the sport, but he didn't particularly love it either. And it had nothing to do with his intellect, despite what his team thought. Yes, he was a veritable "nerd" but that did _not_ mean he was absolutely un-athletic!

He was an FBI-agent, after all. And, poor shot or not, there was-undeniably-quite a lot of running in his career.

No, Spencer didn't care for football for the simple reason that he was a Vagas-baby, born and raised. Give him a deck of cards any day, he could play you until the cows came home-and in more ways than one.

But tossing around a ball, that wasn't even spherical and had been originally made of pigs-skin? _Not_ his idea of fun. Although he could admit that the company made a large difference. As he had enjoyed that Redskins game he had gone to with J.J. awhile back, even if it hadn't gone the way Gideon hoped.

Not that Spencer really minded, sure he hadn't gained a lover, but he _had_ gained a friend. And those were in rather short supply for "Spence." And J.J. was a great friend, so it wasn't really a loss-who knows if they'd even be talking now if he had "made his move" as Morgan liked to joke.

So while Spencer didn't really care for football, he wasn't totally against meeting up with the team to watch the Super Bowl at a nearby club that Morgan had suggested.

It was so rare that the Team was home to celebrate such mundane things as "the end of the football season." It was so rare that the team was able to celebrate _anything_ but the completion of a particularly trying case, these days. And even then, "celebrate" really meant "high-five" or "stern-nod" in the case of Hotch.

So the fact that they were all free on Sunday? Well, Spencer wasn't going to be the one to rain on any parades. Not when it'd been so long since anyone'd really been able to smile. Elle's departure had hit them hard.

So he was all for football.

* * *

"Sometimes," Allison thought, "I can be a real idiot."

Despite the (in retrospect) _obvious_ signs Kevin had been dropping, Allison had been completely oblivious to his attempts to pick-her-up. Sure he may have been "flirting up a storm" if his friend's ribbing's were anything to go off of, but she hadn't seen it.

Of course her eyes had been glued to the screen, like they were _supposed to be_ (why make a Superbowl Party if you weren't going to watch the Super Bowl?) So her dismissive response of;

"nah, I'm fine."

Hadn't been too uncalled for, when Kevin had asked if she'd wanted to go with him to get drinks for the party. And, really, _drinks_? Who _volunteered_ to get drinks?! Especially considering she couldn't even drink herself, and so could potentially get them thrown out if the bartender chose to card her...although, that may have actually been Kevin's plan...

Well, it wasn't her fault that she could be obtuse about such things! He should have just turned to her and said, "that was my excuse to get you to spend some time with me," or something.

She would have caught on!...eventually.

But, no, he'd had to take his stupid injured pride and storm out of the club. Leaving her in the presence of a bunch of strangers and not even a football game to distract her-it had just ended.

Yeah, awkward.

They had tried to include her, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that they had all been introduced to her as "Kevin's girl" (never-mind that Kevin had forgotten to inform _her_ of that little fact) and so, without Kevin, there wasn't really a place for her in the group.

Not that anyone _said_ anything. But the silence spoke for itself.

"Really" Allison thought, as she scanned her eyes around the club for _anyone_ and _anything_ familiar, "people can just be such, _jerks_ , sometimes."

Just then her eyes caught a hold of someone that she _never_ expected to see in the club. And before she could stop herself she had thrown her arms around her childhood friend loudly calling, "Tommy? What are you doing here?!"

"Allie? That you? Since when are you in Virginia?" Thomas 'Tommy' Greenfield, was one of Allison's oldest friends. He had lived in the same neighborhood as her and Sammy back-in-the-day, and through all the hectic-ness that had been the sisters' lives he'd remained a constant.

"What do you mean, 'since when' I e-mailed you half-a-year ago telling you I got into Grad. School! What, has Samantha been monopolizing all of your memory-space, again?" Despite the fact that Tommy was equally Allison and Samantha's friend he had always been more "in the know" with Samantha's life than her own, on account of him living not five minutes away from her apartment.

"Well, you know things have been a little hectic since Sammy's gotten into the big JH, she's had to look at apartments up there and jobs and a bunch of stuff. So I haven't had much time to check my e-mails lately. You know how it is."

Yes.

Allison _did_ know.

Having had to go through a similar process herself a few months ago...when _she'd_ moved. Something that Tommy would have known if he had just _opened his e-mail_.

Not that Allison said any of this, it was such a rare occurrence that she got to spend time with her friend, why ruin it by complaining about something that was done and gone?

No, Allison decided it was much better to just try and keep their conversation going.

"So, have you seen the _Doctor Who_ Christmas Special? I _know_ you have to have been watching religiously since the re-boot."

"Psh, seen it? Who do you think you are talking to, Tommy? I've already _memorized_ it."

Especially since there were so few people who she could have sci-fi conversations with.

"Oh, yeah? What was your favorite quote?"

"And with this ring, I thee bio-damp."

And so began the age-old game of one-up-man-ship that was the cornerstone of Allison and Tommy's friendship. Trying to prove that one of them knew whatever show _that much better_ than the other.

They must have been getting really into it, though, because they both jumped when a voice interrupted their debate when a—

"Did you know that the climax of _Runaway bride_ originally took place at Stonehenge? However, Russell T. Davies was unable to come up with a satisfactory rationale for Stonehenge's involvement, and so the idea was abandoned in the early stages of production."

—new player entered the game.

It wasn't until Allison and Tommy were shooting out question after question of _Star Trek_ trivia, it had quickly devolved into a drinking game between Tommy and Reid with Allison acting as the timer, that she even thought to question what Dr. Spencer Reid was even doing in this bar.

 _"Ask me any,_ any _question." Reid postured, confident in his skills.  
_

 _"Return to Tomorrow." Tommy shot, watching his opponent for an opening.  
_

 _"Return to Tomorrow, Season 2, Production Number 51; an alien entity, Sargon, takes over Kirk's body while two others take over Spock and Dr. Mulhall's." A solid return by Dr. Spencer Reid.  
_

 _"Alien races appearing?" Oh, Tommy throws a curve ball...  
_

 _"Trick question, a race is never identified, Sargon is a disembodied mind." and Reid nails it.  
_

 _"...and the Dr. McCoy quote?" A final pitch by Tommy.  
_

 _"..." Will Reid be able to turn this around?  
_

Of course, as soon as the question crossed her mind.

 _"Five...Four...Three...Two—_

 _—I will not Peddle flesh. I'm a physician."  
_

He was called away on a 'case'.

 _"Drink!"_

"That guy was unbelievable! What were the chances that a Sci-fi guru would be hiding right under our noses?!" Tommy called, beyond impressed. Allison could only nod, eyes tracking Reid.

"Yeah, what are the chances..."

She had never expected Dr. Reid to be a Sci-Fi savant, and was currently, mentally, re-writing everything she knew about him. And considering extending the hand of friendship to the only person she knew who had ever been able to go toe-to-toe with her _and_ Kevin.

Kevin would be going back home soon, anyway-he was only in town for business-so it would be great if she could get a _Doctor Who_ buddy, if nothing else. The season was starting up that May, and after having lost Rose, Allison _knew_ she was going to be emotionally drained. She _needed_ someone to rant to, and to be ranted at by.

Perhaps, she could stop him at next Monday's lecture? Yes, that was a fine plan. She would catch him on his way out of class or something. Sure he wasn't _always_ there. But he made it when he could. And if not Monday she could get him Wednesday, or next Monday...or something.

But Reid wasn't at the lecture that Monday _or_ that Wednesday. Nor was he there the next week, or the week after that.

No, it would be four weeks before Allison so much as glimpsed at Reid again. And by then she would be _far_ too distracted by how sickly he looked to bring up anything about _Doctor Who_.

And he would be far too involved with his personal demons to have the patience to deal with her well-intentioned questions.

* * *

Spencer was hitting himself for not thinking this out.

Of course, when he had been invited to hang with the team for the Super Bowl it had been implied that they would get together _before_ the game, and stay _after_. Despite this he hadn't put too much thought into what _he_ would do after the game had ended and everyone scattered to the farthest corners of the club.

Perhaps, he had just expected everyone to stay together? But, no, not five minutes after the Game had ended Morgan and Garcia had rushed to the dance floor-a place Spencer was _adamant_ about avoiding-and J.J. and Emily had started bonding while Hotch and Haylee decided to call up their babysitter and see how Jack was doing.

Now Spencer knew he was more than welcome to join any of the mini-groups, well maybe not Hotch and Haylee but they would return soon enough and would be more than willing to humor him.

But he didn't exactly _want_ to be humored. He could have gone up to J.J. and Emily, but something about interrupting a conversation between two girls just didn't sit right with Spencer _—_

"Probably my survival instincts." he'd mused.

So he was left looking for a way to entertain himself. He had already killed a few minutes by going to the bathroom. But he was a big boy and had long out grown the need to hide in public restrooms as a response to social anxiety.

Spencer probably would have been wandering for hours if he hadn't heard a familiar voice from behind him. Saying a familiar line. One that he had found himself laughing at a little over a month ago.

"And with this ring, I thee bio-damp."

Was that his T.A.? What was she doing here? Well, probably watching the Game, same as everyone else. Still, Spencer hadn't expected to find her in a _club_. He didn't know anything about her, of course, but she just never really seemed like the "party-scene" kind of person. Then again, judging by what he had just overheard she wasn't exactly "partying" in the traditional sense.

"That's a great line, so what do you think of the idea of Donna replacing Rose? I mean, I know she said 'no' but if she _hadn't_ do you think she would have made a good companion?"

So Spencer hadn't been hearing things, they _were_ discussing the latest _Doctor Who_ episode. Should he interrupt? It was beyond rude, sure, but it was kind of acceptable in the sci-fi circles to just inject yourself into these kinds of conversations...provided you knew what you were talking about.

"Of course, did you not see how she handled that 'Valeyard' moment with the Doctor? I don't think Rose would've been able to take that side of him."

"Yeah, but if Rose was still around then the Doctor wouldn't have acted that way during the Climax _at all_."

"Did you know that the climax of _Runaway bride_ originally took place at Stonehenge? However, Russell T. Davies was unable to come up with a satisfactory rationale for Stonehenge's involvement, and so the idea was abandoned in the early stages of production."

Spencer winced at his spew of facts. He hadn't even meant to interrupt, not _really_. It was clear by how they'd both jumped at his voice that they'd been lost in their own world, a world that Spencer had just barged right into. He really _hadn't_ meant to speak, though. But they had just seemed so _interested_ in the episode, and Spencer remembered finding that particular fact beyond interesting when he'd read it.

Can you imagine the show-down between the Ragnorak and The Doctor at _Stonehenge_?! It would have been _amazing._

Still, it wasn't his place to interrupt, and they would be well with-in their rights to tell him to 'get lost.' So Spencer was more than pleasantly surprised when they angled their bodies to include him in their little semi-circle and began to pick his brain for more _Doctor Who_ trivia.

When they re-located to a small table, and Spencer learned that their science-fiction interests extended to such staples as _Star Wars_ and _Star Trek_ , he was _ecstatic_. It wasn't all too hard to find other Trekkies, true, but nothing beat just randomly _bumping into_ fans. It was half the reason people went to conventions at all.

And to find that one of the fans was someone he _knew_? Perhaps not well, but someone he could _easily_ track down to have similar conversations with-if she was amendable to such an arrangement-was...well Spencer didn't know the term, but he was very happy.

He had decided to study Philosophy after that whole debacle with Nathan Harris. Reid hadn't been lying when he'd told Nathan that he learned something new everyday, that _Nathan_ had taught him something new.

Everything had pointed to the fact that Nathan was a killer, or, at the very least _would be_. He should of had no concept of the immorality of murder. Yet, when it came down to it, he had decided to take his life rather than go on to kill others.

And Spencer had stopped him.

Did that make Spencer responsible for Nathan's life from then on? Morgan didn't think so, but then again didn't Morgan always say that everyone was responsible for their own choices? Well, Nathan had _chosen_ to take his life. Had, in his own way, _chosen_ to not kill. And Spencer had chosen to stop him.

So didn't that make Spencer responsible for that choice? It's like they say "it's better to remove the temptation than to stumble," and short of a lobotomy there was no way for Nathan to "remove" _his_ temptation, aside from the one he tried to take. And Spencer had made that point moot.

Didn't that mean it would be Spencer's fault should he "stumble"?

Psychology told him _what_ he was feeling. Chemistry told him _how_ he was feeling it. And Common Sense told him _why._ But nothing he had ever studied could so much as make an attempt at _answering_ him.

Hence; philosophy.

He'd gone on to call up the nearest Uni, right then and there, and asked about enrolling (he couldn't very well take classes at Cal-tech, with his schedule.) He'd enrolled into a class for the very next Semester, under the understanding that he didn't _have to_ sit in on lectures to get credit. As long as he completed his assignments with-in an "acceptable" period.

Spencer wasn't yet sure if he would continue on to get his Bachelor's in Philosophy. It would take him awhile doing only one course per semester, even if they were all upper-level courses (he hardly need to re-complete his pre-reqs), but you could never learn too much. And it was a nice break from the Bureau to sit back in the classroom and pretend to be just another student.

And while he didn't _have to_ sit in on lectures, he found he enjoyed it. Philosophy was just much better learned through lecture. Trying to learn from a textbook was...bland. It was just bland.

And now that he found a Trekkie in Allison Wolfe, Spencer was seriously considering showing up a bit more often. Wouldn't it be great if they could discuss the newest _Doctor Who_ episodes, as they came out? Or the sanctity of rebooting _Star Trek_ through _movies_ of all things?

All the stuff that the Team would smile at him bringing up, but laugh at him attaching any form of actual _emotion_ to. Not that they, in anyway, _bullied_ him. But it would be a stretch to say they _understood_ his love of all things science-fiction.

"Yes," Spencer thought as he bid good-bye to Allison, and her friend, jogging over to J.J. and the Team, "after this case I'll track her down so that we can finish our conversation."

He didn't.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you to all who have read/alerted/favorited/reviewed! You guys are the best. As a 'thank you' I have made this chapter extra-long. Psh. Totally did that on purpose. Well, I am clearly sleep-deprived (my fault). But hopefully you all like this chapter, regardless!  
**

 **ripon:** Haha, yeah it is a very interesting system, and shows up quite a bit considering the age of the main character and the-yet to be disclosed-nature of the crimes being committed. Yeah, the age-gap is not horrible, but some people get bothered by things like that. Never-mind the fact that Reid and Allison would be classified as "aquaintances" right now, and I have plans for them to firmly become "friends" before they enter into a "relationship" so who knows what age they'll actually be when they're 'official.' Thank you very much for your review! It is always really encouraging to know people read these.


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